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A WARRANT 



A PLAY IN FIVE ACTS 



BY 
F. THAUMAZO 




BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
1909 






Copyright, 1909, 

by 

FREDERICK LOEVIUS 



©CID 17721 I 



A- 



DEDICATED 
MOST AFPECTIOiNATELY 

TO MY FRIEND 
DR. MAURICE TEN BRINK 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 

Irving' Combden. 

MiMred Comfcden, his wife. 

Mr. Wortihin-gt'on, her father. 

Mrs. Worthington, her mother. 

Gus, her brother. 

Kate Hennessey. 

James Worthington. 

Cutler ^ 

LitchfieM Virving's friends. 

Ruby Hart ) 

Dr. Martin. 

Dr. Pump-Nio'k'ell, nicknia>med ^'un'cle Hen'ri**. 

Mislhelle. 

Seven Prisoners. 

Two WO'm'en-Missionaries. 

Four Boys. 

A Keeper. 

A Detective. 

A Messenger boy. 

A Servant. 

Prisoners. 

Officers of the Police. 



Time: Begin of twentieth century. 
Place of action : Nicw York. 



I. ACT. 

A neatly, but not richly furnished roam representing Parlor and 

Library, one side-door leads to hall, the other to rooms; in rear 

of stage are windows to street. Mildred Combden and 

Dr. Martin sitting at table. 

Dr. Martin. As I said before, madam, I do not 
regret tihe fact that Mr. Com'bden has left the hospital. 

Mrs. Combden. Still, I remember how the 
directors praised him while he was superintending- it. 

Dr. Marti n. You are rig^ht. But that was a 
mistake of ooursie. Ainybody is liable to make a mistake, 
you know. There is more ease, though, since his absence. 
He was too nervous, you understand. He was all that 
you call a crank. We have learned to be 'more careful in 
selecting a new superinteindent. That person must be 
trustworthy : w<e have to rely o^n him so much. Your 
husband — • 

M r s. Co m b d e n (interrupting with surprise). My 
husband? He did not — ? 

Dr. Martin. No, no, of course, he did not. But 
he never cared to go into the details of the expenses. 

M r s. C o m b d e n (curiously). Pardon, Doctor. He 
left after a scandal. Did he not? 

Dr. Martin. Exactly. His expose of matters of 
delicacy had reached the public ear. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Has your visit any relations to 
this matter? Or did you come to beg of him to resume 
the position? 

D r. M a r t i n. I am sorry if I disappoint you. But 
T have not come with that purpose. Yoiu know, that quite 
an intimate friendship exists between me and your 
brother, and yoai will permit me to extend the same to 
his only sister. Especially, since I can be of service to 
you. 



Mrs. C o m b d e n (affecting surprise). To me? I 
am delighted, Doctor. Yet I am puzzled. 

Dr. Martin. Yes, to you, Mrs. Combden. And 
because, — I don't want to keep you in suspense — because 
I must warn you. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Indeed, Doctor, you cannot ex- 
plain quickly enough. 

Dr. Martin. Your husband, Mrs. Combden, is — 
prepared — well, I hardly have the audacity to say it. 

M r s. Combden. To leave me? Speak it out, 
Doictor. 

D r. M a r t i n. Now, I did not — ^^say that. 

Mrs. Combden. But — 

D r. M a r t i n. You seem to know your husband's 
intentions. 

Mr-s. Co)m'ibde;n> (fspitielfu'llly). 0*h, I do! And I 
shall be prepared. Speak frankly. I will not abuse your 
corufidence. 

Dr. Martin. You cannot hold me responsible, 
Mrs. Combden. I did not say anything. 

Mrs. Combden. This is the way you men always 
treat us. We give our confidence and you return sus- 
picion. 

D r. M a r t i n. Well, Mrs. Combden. You must 
understand, Mrs. Combden, I am very sorry for you. 
Therefore, excuse my questions if they be bold. Was 
there anythino^ like moral force you brought to bear on 
Mr. Combden — 

Mrs. Comd'en. Go ahead, Doctor. (With sar- 
casm.) I see you are one of the initiated. 

Dr. Martin. Yes, he told me. You k-now, we 
were quite chums. But I now understand that you are 
suffering under very distressed circumstamces. I also 
know about his intentions. To be silent is to invite 
crime. My advice could avert a possible misfortune. I, 
therefore, urge you, madam, to aipply at the proper autho- 
rities. 

iM r s. C o m b d e n. I thank you very m'uch, Doctor. 
My own reflections have brought me to the same con- 
clusions. Rut I should have to wait till he abandoned me. 

8 



D r. Marti n. Not necessarily. If your husban J 
utters a threat, and you unders'tand, it is to your interest 
that he does — you can have him — well — say — 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Arrested ? Is it >not ? Horrible ! 

Dr. Martin (rising). You will not be the first 
woman that served herself well by making the time suit- 
afble to thefrself. After all, this is your aiff'air. I have done 
my duty. 1 have warned you. 

(M r s. C o m b d e n. I am sorry that I am not able to 
detain you. But I fear, Irving might insult you if he 
met you here. I am quite used to suiclh sicenes. 

Dr. Martin (indignantly) . How vile ! 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Why, he threatened to kill any- 
body wiho happens to visit me witho'ut his knowledge. 

D r. M a r t i n. Good 'by, Mrs. Combden. (Exit.) 

Gus. Worthing ton and Kate Hennessey appear as 
soon as Doctor Martin has left Mrs. Combden. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. You knew who was here ? 

G u s. Why, I heard the most part of the conver- 
sation. Does he not corroborate my assertions? Mildred, 
I hope, he has not spoken in vam and you will act on his 
advice. 

Mrs. C Oi m b id en. But hoiw can I do it ? 

Gus. I and Irving are on very strained relations. 
I cannot arrange matters personally. 

Miss Hennessey. What did you intend to do? 

iM r s. Co m b den. Ask Mr. Combden, whether he 
really intended to leave me. 

Miss Hennessey. Rely on me, Mrs. Combden. 
My endeavors s'hall satisfy you. 

Gus. I knew that you are my sisters as well my 
friend. 

Miss Hennessey. And I am sure, my dear 
Gus, that I am worthy of both her friendship and 'Con- 
fidence. You will find, Mrs. Combden, that I am worthy 
of your brother's affection. 

Mrs. Com b d en. I never doubted it. 

G u s (rudely affectionate). Oh, Kate, what unneces- 
sary assurances ! 

9 



Mrs. C o m b d e n. Stay with us, Miss Hen^n^ssey. 
He seems always cheerful in your pT-esence. 

G u s. I am leaving you. We are exjpecting you at 
home to-night, Kate. 

MissHennessey. I accept the invitation glad- 
ly, Gus. 

G u s. So long ! (Exit.) 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. There must come an end to all 
that. Mind, he is getting jealous. Imagine his temper 
in such a state of insanity! One cannot receive anybody 
without 'hiding that fact from him. Sho-uld he, perohance,. 
becom-e aware of things taking place here he dislikes, 
he might be driven to commit some irresponsible deed. 
There must be made an end to all that. 

Miss Hennessey. That creature ! He has no 
property? 

M r s. C o m b d e ^n. He has nothing. But I am well 
advised. 

Miss Hennessey. He deserves all he can get. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. You remember how he used to 
repeat : Miss Worthington, you are a good girl. 

Miss Hennessey. And, certainly, you were 
good to him. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n (offended). But he paid the 
penalty. 

MissHennessey (dryly.) And how happy you 
are ! 

Mrs. C o m b d e n (suppressing her anger). I hold 
my fate in my hands. But while I will be free and happy 
he shall work in all the sweat of his misery and degra- 
dation — and for me. Ah, how he will like it! To be mar- 
ried and not have a wife, to support a woman and not 
get t(he comforts of wedlock. 

Miss He-nnessey. Serves him right, that bold 
thing. Thinks there be nothing good enough in our so- 
ciety. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Tell him — I hear his steps — ^you 
had heard he wanted to depart. You are smart enough — 
I need not Instruct you. 

10 



Miss Hennessey. Leave it to me. 

Irving, entering, puts hat om deisk and shakes hands with Miss 

Hennessey. 

Irving (cordially). Quite a surprice, Miss Hennes- 
sey. 

Miss Hennessey. Why, Mr. Combden, since 
yo'U do not care to come to us, w^e must needs visit you. 

I r V i n g*. I, really, have no time left for (paying* 
visits. I have no time for recreation. I feel worn out. 
I sometimes think I ought to lie down and take a deep 
breath and get a rest. 

M i s s H e n n e s s e y. You ought to remember, Mr. 
Combden, that gossip is a busy chatter. You never are 
seen with Mrs. Combden, and the Worthingtons feel the 
slight. The world is full of rumors. 

Irving. Oh, again the old story. The world t 
What is it! Your gossiping friends, your deriding neigh- 
bors, your vain relatives who imagine that the napkin or 
the kitchen set they have surprised you with on your 
wedding day insures their rig'ht to interfere with your 
doings and sayings, with alii your affairs and opinions. 
You have to leave that world, to find yourself. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. But one cannot live all by one- 
self. 

Irving looks at her meditatingly, turns away. 

Miss Hennessey. Since when are you an 
enemy of the world? 

Irving, r am far from being an enemy of the 
world. But I object to the petty kindness of some 
people that like to go through the pockets of your clothes 
in search of a petty secret. It is the ignorant suspicion 
of petty souls that I object to. And, furthermore, (stand- 
ing in front of Miss Hennessey, with tremulous voice) 
to listen to the criticisms of a miserable lot of inquirers 
and false prophets, is more than my self-respect can 
stand. If one does not become mad in such a world, he, 
certainly, becomes miserabl}^ indifferent (walks up and 
down, agitated). 

11 



Mrs. C o m b d e n. Come and look at our baby, 
Miss Hennessey. 

Mrs. Combden and Miss H'ennessey leave. 
Irving alone. 

On a new mission of espionage. Contemptible lot! 
See the baby ! — Poor, poor child ! Surely, he had no bath 
to-day. (Goes into next room, returns soo^n). Out all 
day, dragging the babe along. And whither goes she? 
Comiplains here, tears there ! O'h, I am a regular monster. 
No house of servants, no equipage, no box in the opera. 
(Bitterly laughing). Ha, ha, what a monster I am. — 
But, patience. One more year and we shall live in more 
luxurious surroundings. O-ne more year of hard labor. 
One long, dreary year, no peace within your own four 
Avails, no glimpse of cheerful calmness. Perhaps she'd 
take pride in my name. My work will attract attention, 
I shall work every night. (Sits down at the desk, reads 
and makes notes). ''Happiness to gain iby liberating the 
soul from all sensual cupidity and imagination !" Ah, 
Plato, to what amounts the sO'ul in a married man. We 
are all dum'mies, and who'Cver is none will be unhappy, 
ridiculed, and shoved aside. 

Miss Hennessey returns. 

M i s s H e n n e s s e y. What a wonderful baby ! 

Irving (in thoughts). Yes. 

MissHennessey. Yet — rather delicate. 

Irving (as above, nodding). 

Miss Hennessey. I supipose, like all fathers 
you have great illusions about it. 

Irving (turning around). I leave them to the 
happier sex. 

MissHennessey. I am sure, you are happy. 

Irving (trying to smile). Oh, how happy ! 

Miss Hennessey. You have reasons for it. 
Such a good wife, such worthy relations, such a darling 
child ! Yet you look as though you had grave thoughts 
about the future. 

12 



Irving. H\a, ha, you are an excellent critic. (Aside.) 
ril put pepper into that dish of suspicion. 

Miss Hennessey. What a flatterer you are. 
But we know each ofher too W'eill. 

Irving. I know you well, Miss Hennessey. I can 
read your thoughts. 

'Miss Hennessey (resolutely). Then guess my 
present thought. 

Irving (pacing up and down, agitated, standing 
before her). I guess it. You are thinking this very 
moiment, that I a'm aibout to lea^ve the baby to his mother 
and the mother to her fate, and that I will save my life 
from the damnation of her circle by removing to a dist- 
ance yet unknown to you. Ha, ha, you see how well I 
am informed about wihat is going on around me. 

iMiss Hennessey. No, Mr. Combden, it is im- 
possible. You can not do it. Think of the unhappy lot — ! 

Irving (with affected indifference). Nonsense, I 
never stop to consider the lot of others. I busy myself 
about my own affairs. 

Miss Hennessey. But how can you ever be 
happy when your conscience will bear such crime. 

Irving. Crime has no conscience. Fellows like 
me laugh at what you fear. 

Miss Hennessey (in tears). I know, you do 
not mean it. 

Irving. Why, my dear Miss Hennessey, I mean 
what I say. 

Miss Hennessey. And will you tell your wife 
of your intentions? 

Irving. Now, do not take me for a fool. I might 
tell her. You know, I am frank and can not have se- 
crets. But I will tell her only at the moment I am pre- 
pared to go. 

Mrs. Combden enters. 

Mrs. Combden. Why in tears, Miss Hennessey? 

Miss Hennessey. Mr. Combden told me such 
a dreadful story. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. I never heard him tell any. What 
was it about? 

13 



Irving (ironically). In proper time comes every fruit. 
Have patience. 

Miss Hennessey. It is getting very late. I 
m*ust go. Good by. 

Mrs. Com'bden and Miss Hennessey leave, 

Irving opens slowly door to inner room, enters it and soon 

returns with ba'by in arms. 

How sweet you sleep, darling. And to think that a 
mother of such a treasure could have tho-ughts entirely 
inimical to its safety. Innocent, little creature ! I never, 
never leave you. My smiling boy ! Happy not know your 
father's misery and not to feel those pangs of love that 
finds no echo in a loved one's heart. Oh, 'how good 
nursing should invigorate you. Poor, poor thing! (liste- 
ning.) She comes (kisses baby). Sleep, honey! (Enters 
next room, returns alone.) 

While Irving was out, Mildred has coime in. Right after Irving 
returns, and, ignoring her, goes to his desk. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. You want anything? 

Irving (at his desk). No. 

Mrs. Comb'den. You had no supper. 

Irving. I had enough. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Good night ! 

She leaves, Irving looks meditatingly at door through which 

she disappeared. After walking up and down a few minutes, he 

sits down at desk. 

Irving (writing). And that is my wife! So cold, 
so strangely indifferent. 

M r s, C o m Jb d e n apipears in nightgown, pretends to busy 

herself, approaches him. 

Irving (looking up). I thought you went to bed. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. I cannot sleep. 

Irving. Hm. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Irving. 

Irving. Yes, dear. 

14 



M r s. C o m b d e n. I wanted to speak to you. 

Irving. But no tears ! 

M r s. C cm lb d en. I wainted t)o ask you (agitated) — 

Irving. I thought you wanted to speak to me. 

Mrs. Combden (crying). Irving, what are you 
going to do? 

Irving (mildly). Please stop crving and let us 
talk. 

Mrs. Combden (as above) . Think of our child ! 

Irving (agitated). No scene, please. 

Mrs. Combden (as above). See, how unhappy 
you have made me ! 

Irving (rising and taking his hat). You fairly 
drive me out. 

Mrs. Combden (calm). Go, I know I can not 
hold you. 

Irving (sits down again). You could save your- 
self and me all this unnecessary exjcitement if you would 
banish that sneaking suspicion. It invites worry and up- 
sets your mind. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. That is yo-ur suspicion. You 
never listen. 

Irving. No, no, your are my good girl Mildr-ed. 
They want to kill our happiness. Do not listen to them. 

Mrs. Combden (with subdued sobs). If I were 
sure of yo'ur love, I would close my door to the rest of the 
world. Oh, Irving, how they hunt me ! 

Irving (taking her on his lap). Poor, poor Mil- 
dred. I admit I have wronged you. I have been cold to 
you. B\ut you torment me with your tears. Does it never 
occur to you that suspicious inquiries coiuld hurt my senti- 
ments of honor? No, my girl, you need not close your 
door to the rest of the world. But you assure your 
visitors that they will be treated hospitably here if they 
bring an open face, an open 'heart with them. 

Bell rings. Mrs. Combden retires. 
James Worthing ton and G u s enter. 

Worthington. Rather late. 
Irving. You are right. But welcome ! 

15 



W o r t h i n g t o n. Well, thought I, Irving is cert- 
ainly a most happy man. Thinking of nobody but his 
little beloved wife. What wonder! Since it is the best 
girl I ever knew, yo-u carried off. 

Irving. But would you not like to take your coat 
off? 

W o r t h i n g t o n. It is late. I suppose you are 
soon to retire? 

Irving. Do not mind it. I was just going to read 
a little. 

W o r t h i n g t o n. If you insist (takes coat off). 

I r v i n g. And now Til prqpare a cup of tea. It is 
the ibest I can offer on this cool spring evening. 

W o r t h i n g t o n. Not for me. I shall not drink 
anything. 

Irving. It is soon done. 

Worthington. You are too kind. Sit down 
and let us have a litte chat. 

Irving. Allright. Let us have a little chat. I 
have not seen you for some time. 

Worthington. That's just why I came around. 
And since you know w^hat interest I take in my brother's 
child, you will find it pardonable wlhen I wanted to bathe 
my old heart in this garden of contentment. 

They sit down. 

Irving (aside). What diplomacy ! (aloud) Rather 
a dry bath and quite a miracle. 

Worthington. Though I know that the work- 
ing of a miracle is not a part of your admiration, I want 
to remind you of the words of one great statesman well 
versed in all modern sciences and literature 

I T V i n g. I do not think that a statesman whose 
deepest belief i's in the credulity of ^the masses knows of 
another miracle than the vote. As to science and litera- 
ture — ^these subjects are inimical to his interests. 

Worthington. There is a good deal of truth in 
3^our words. And they fill my heart with real joy. For a 
man who speaks thus most certainly acts likewise, and 

16 



weighs with never ceasing intelligence and accuracy the 
steps he is about to take. 

Irving. I tcould not walk far if I did it. I should 
have to take the feet in my hands in order to weigh my 
steps. 

Worthington. You are modest. And, there- 
fore, your value grows in my eyes. 

Irving. Please, do not view me through a micros- 
cope. 

G u s. You seem to be amused. 

Irving. So I am. But do not participate in the 
conversation. You (cut it short. Now, then! What is 
your object. Let us not dance round the fire. Your 
little nephew is sleepy. He nearly caught fire. 

Gus meets a wink from Mr. Worthington and leans back in chair. 

Worthington. Object? If you call my inquiry 
as to your happiness and welfare an object, — 

Irving. You were sure of it when you entered. 
What makes yo'u doubt it now? 

Worthington. I do not exactly doubt it. But 
I should have expected to find your wife with you. 

Irving. She is in bed, and I was studying. 

Worthington. Glad to hear it. That means 
you are making plenty of money. While Mildred stayed 
with her parents during the holidays, she told us about it. 

Gus. And why, if this be the case, do you not 
provide her with more comfort? 

I T v i n g. I never refuse her anything that I can 
afford to supply her with. 

Gus. What a joke ! 

Irving. You are a very foolish fellow. 

Gus. Because I do not live like that fellow in the 
barrel? (iShbwing at poiclkiet.) I am uip to diat)e ! 

Irving. Oh, your brain is in your pocket. I know 
it. Your skull can not coin anything but money. But 
now I sh'all ta'lik busim'ess. (StennJy.) I pteirceive now that 
my wife has utilized the holidays in the house of her 
parents for an explanation of her various grievances, has 
implored your wise action and has painted me devilishly 

17 



black. You have come to-night with an object. Now, 
Mr. Worthington, sit still, please. Let me tell you that 
I shall not listen to any propositions from you or any- 
body else. I am resolved to treat all such interference 
with the contempt that imprudence and cant deserve. She 
has her own tongue to speak with, and her own will to 
act upon. You are cruel. 

Worthington. Excuse me. But you speak of 
cruelty. Do you not treat your wife 'cruelly? But since 
1 know that your real sentiments are noible, and t'hat tlhis 
connection has only made you so miserably lunhappy, that 
you are hardly aware of the injustice you are treating 
her with, I (cam-e to offer you my advice and, if necessary, 
my money — to escape from this dilemma. You earn a 
good salary, you could make a finer living. Let us say, 
unhappy circumstances prevent it. The best intentions 
have been tried and have failed. You know it as well as 
I, and you ask yourself: What is the next step? 

Irving. You are wrong. My position is very clear 
to me. But you are laboring under delusions. 

G'U s. You do not intend keeping her in this prison 
all her life? 

Irving (scoinfully). If this be a prison to her — she 
may go. 

W o r t h i n g t o n. Go ! This is a matter which must 
be legally settled. 

Irving (indignant). Enough, I say. If she has 
tired of me, she may go. I shall never claim her, never 
interfere with her. If she so demands it — I shall go. 

W o r t h i n g t o n. Remember, she is young. She 
does not intend burying her hopes. A mere word 

Irving rises suddenly. 

Irving (as above). A mere w^ord is nothing to 
you ! It is all to me. The legal settlement would be but the 
introiduction to a drama for w/liidh the uncle is kind enougli 
to act as manager. (Resolved.) I have been a fool, but 
now I am prepared to meet you on equal grounds. I 
have treated you politely ; you deserve contempt. I 
demand that you leave me. (Pointing at door.) 

18 



W o r t h i n g t o n. I am, as yet, in the house of my 
niece. 

Irving. I command you to go, to go this very 
minute. 

W o r t h i n g t o n. Let us agree upon a settlement. 

Worthington and Giis leave their seats. 

Irving. Settlement? (In rage.) I am not fright- 
ened by the dignity of your bombastic phrases. And 
every tie of unison is torn; your interference has torn it. 
Mind, torn every tie. That unscrupulous woman abides 
by your counsel. By your counsel ! Oh, mischief and lie 
are your w^eapons. It has an end. (Closing desk.) And 
if you have not gone within two minutes, (taking his hat) 
you will force me to leave — ^never to return. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n, half fainting, sits down. 

Mrs. Combden. Dear Irving! 

Irving. Ah. that makes the worthy set complete. 

Worthington. Your actions convince me that 
you are a companion unfit to associate any longer with 
my niece. 

Irving. Make haste ! 

W o r t ih i n g t o n (at door) . You'll regret it ! 

Worthington and Giis leave. 

Irving locks door, sinks exhausted into chair and covers his 

face with hand. Mrs. Combden bends down before him. 

Irving (suddenly jumps up). Viper! (Points to 
door) . 

Mrs. Combden slowly walks away, sobbnig. Irving falls 

into chair. 



19 



11. ACT. 

A doctor's office luxuriously furnished. A case with instru- 
ments, another with various small bottles containing medicines, 
Books. One side door leads to inner rooms, one to vestibule; 
.middle door to waiting room. 

Cutler and Dr. Pump-Nickel. 

Cutler. He very seldom visits you? 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. If he visits anybody, Irving 
visits me, his friend. He knows well his friend. Why, 
after his discharge from the hospital, he sat daily with 
me here and had supper with me. If he wants an advice, 
this is the place he looks for, and if he has a secret, this 
is the ear he confides it to. 

Cutler. Into what miserable a pith he has fallen. 
And, I understand, you had a hand in it. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. He is not very happy. But 
his own conscience led him to that course. It was. though, 
not all done lege artis. There was an abundance of her 
vol'umen (describing circumference) contra his errors 
and, as he felt in honor bound to restore the balance and, 
yet, was unable to reduce her volumen, he was convinced 
of the necessity of throwing his whole value in the coun- 
terpois. 

Cutler. He never yielded to my advice. I warned 
him. And yet, indirectly, I am to blame for all his 
troubles. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Come on. You know what 
interest I take in Irving. And, also, what kind of a man 
I am. I told you how it happened, that they got married. 
Treat me with the same confidence and tell me of the 
part you took in the affair. Discretion, of course, is a 
matter of honor. 

Cutler. There is no secret about it, uncle Henri. 
I might as well recall the incident. We were having a 
jolly good time. It was a beautiful, dry, starry winters 

20 



night. We had had quite a friendly chat in the company 
of a juicy steak and a sparkling bottle of wine. We were 
too animated to depart from each other and return home. 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. Wine is good, a steak more 
to my taste, and a girl 

Cutler. And a soft-lipped and cheerful woman is 
best. Jubilant in the glory of our intimacy and good 
nature, we talked friendly of everybody and amused our- 
selves with everything. Irving, suddenly, full of an 
enthusiasm that sometimes carries him off into exalted 
illusions, felt a burning desire to finish this nighfs joy 
with a piece of out-of-the-ordinary romantic adventure. 
"You need not look far," said I, ''were I in your boots, 
Fd whistle my serenade at the window of a certain girl, 
and the next minute should find me in her arms." "Quite 
easy,*' said he, "and be sure, I have the co'urage of a 
Marat and should not hesitate to storm a bastille to ac- 
complish this final triumph. What is her name, and 
where is the place?" Thereupon I and the other comrades 
made merry, for we could not realize that he did nto know 
whom we meant. Finally I mentioned Miss Mildred 
Worthington's nam^e. Holy child of sterility ! How trans- 
formed was he instantly. He cast a glance at each of us, 
a glance that I never shall forget — ^^so full of horrified 
significance. "I see, you are in an irresponsible con- 
dition," said he. And he hurried away. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. And since then you never 
met? 

Cutler. Very seldom. And, try as I may, to ap- 
proach him in the old confidential style of comrades — he 
coolly satisfied himself with saluting me and ipassing by. 

Dr. Pump- Nickel. Always the same. 

S e r va n t (opening door to waiting room). Doctor, 
there is a lady here that's very nervous. 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. Nervous, eh? A morphine 
or co'cainefiend, I suppose. Will be right back. (Exit.) 

Cutler. (Alone.) I have been wrongly informed. 
He is innocent. 

Ruby Hart enters with Dr. Pump-Nickel. 

21 



Dr. Pump -Nickel. Mr. Cutler is no stranger to 
you. What a glorious day ! 

Cutler (shaking her hand and leading her to chair). 
Indeed, a promising day. We have not met for some time. 

Ruby Hart. Who wants to be bothered with the 
company of an old spinster? (Refuses the seat.) 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. He, he, a nice species of a 
spinster. 

RubyHart. I prefer to be a spinster. The per- 
fect maturity promises more intellect than a half deve- 
loped freshness. But it is not compliments I have come 
to exchange. Strange as it may seem to you, I carry the 
salvation of a friend on my tongue, and I want to engage 
your help. I can speak frankly to you, for you both are 
friends of Mr. Combden. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. They consider me his best 
friend. 

Cutler. I bear no grudge against him, but he dis- 
likes me. 

RubyH art. Forgive him, if he ever insulted you. 
I know him well, (turning away ; passionately). And I for 
forgave him, for he needs friends. 

Cutler (taking her hands). Ah, Miss Ruby Hart, 
how could he turn away from you ! 

Ruby Hart. And why not? Is he not his own 
master? I honor him still. Because his is a heart filled 
with the tenderest sentiments; his is an ideal glorying in 
all the magnificence of bright confidence and hope for 
mankind; his is a judgment, the sword of which cuts his 
own souil deeper than that of the 'abusers'. But his is a 
temperament that belies his very nature: and his diaboli- 
cally fiery nerve bends itself to destroy his gifted life. 
And what I have feared is going to happen. His wife, 
not capable of explaining his w^ays, has decided to part 
from him, but to secure his public humiliation first. Oh. 
Mr. Combden can not stand it. 

Cutler. Speak out. Miss Hart. He has every- 
thing I own and am at his disposal. 

Miss Hart. I knew it. But let us go on. My 
father is one of the directors of the hospital of which 

22 



Irving, till recently, was the superintendent. From an- 
other director he heard what is going to befall our friend, 
and, suspecting me of malice, he related it to me. His 
wife has taken out a warrant against Irving and he has 
no property, no security. — 

Cutler (indignant). A warrant? Just like them. 
Market people. Onions and garlic. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Dr. Martin is planning re- 
venge for the exposure. Irving has acted imprudently. 

Cutler. He has acted manly. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Reputation is the first prin- 
ciple of a business. And prudence the first maxim of a 
citizen. 

Cutler. Do you fear for your reputation? Then 
leave this matter to us. Prudence ought to forbid you 
to associate yourself with us in a beginning which could 
Sipoil your reputation wat'h the Wortihingtons and that 
sort. 

Ruby Hart. You wilil not betray us, Doctor? 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. Rest assured, Miss Hart, 
Irving is my friend. 

R u b y H a r t. Will you act ? 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. Instantly. What can I do ? 

Ruby Hart. Go and tell him of the warrant. 
(Reflecting.) Tell me, where I can find him. I want to 
be sure of the accomplishment of an act that suffers no 
delay. 

Cutler. He is a bookkeeper in some scorpions 
office. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. I can not find his card. Rely 
on me. Fll find him. 

Ruby Hart. Pray, Doctoir, never reflect twice 
before you extend a helping hand. 

Dr. P u m p - N i'C k e 1. I can not remember the 
number of the office. 

Cutler. Is it not in the Hermion Building? 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. Yes, yes. 

RubyHart. I shall go through the building and 
find him. 

23 



Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1 (taking card from table). 
Here it is. 

R u b y H a r t. Good by ! (Exit.) 

Cutler (fixing the doctor). What have you to do 
with it? Are you simply a miserable business man or a 
wilful gamester? Since when date your illfeelings against 
Irving? 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Man, you are disgusting 
me. What can I have against him? Take a dose of mor- 
phine and get quiet, or a tablet of strychnine. That girl 
upsets your nerves. Go on, have a smoke and puff your 
suspicions awa}'. 

Bell rings. 

Dr. Pump-Nickel oipens door to vestibule. Soon after 

Mrs. Comb den and Gus appear. The newcomers show 

uneasiness at sight of Cutler who faces them calmly. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. I was quite free in visiting you 
out of office hours. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Just make yourself at home. 
I am really delighted at your show of friendship. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. I know you are a gentleman, 
:and thus I am encouraged to treat you with familiarity. 

Dr. Pump- N i c 'k e 1. Sit down, please. (Intro- 
•du'cing.) 'Mrs. Combden, Mr. Worthington, Mr. Cutler. 

Gus. No need of any introduction. We know Mr. 
Cutler too well. 

Cutler. But not well enough, it seems, to under- 
stand yoiur positio'U in his presence. 

Gus. My position? I 'have never blotted the fair 
name of anybody like somebody else. 

Cutler. Like Mr. Cutler, for instance. Now, my 
good man, if ever I have abused anybody's name in 
;^busive terms — it was not the owner's of a fair one. 

Gus. Are you alluding to my sister, sir? 

'C u tier (ca-lmly). I am alluding to anybody. 

M r s. C o m b d 'C n. Let it be enough. 

Gus. You will be called to vindicate yourself. 

Cutler. At your service. Will be exceedingly 
Tiappy for the opportunity. Good by! (Exit.) 

24 



Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Do not mind him. He is a 
ruffian. 

Mrs. Combden. Now, Doctor, let m>e explain our 
coming here. My brother, having some matters of trans- 
action with my husband's employer, was quite astonished 
at not finding Irving there. Upon his solicitation he was 
told Irving had felt too ill and was permitted to take a 
day off. You can imagine my grief, after listening to 
such news, to not find him at home and in the proper 
care of his wife. In my plight I did not know what 
doing. I hope nothing has befallen him. And so, remem- 
bering the warm sympathy of our mutual friend, I be- 
thought myself of the possibility of finding him here, in 
your care. 

Dr. P u m ;p - N i c 'k e 1. He was not here. But 
while I deeply deplore the cause of your anxiety, more 
so, since you meet here with disappointment, I heartily 
rejoice in your approval of my sympathy. I am your 
friend, madame, as you well know, and I shall serve you, 
as such, with pleasure. If there be anything you wish 
me to do 

M r s. C o m b d e n. There is nothing. Doctor, that I 
wished you to do. I hoped to find him here and take him 
home. Or learn from you of his wihere'abouts. 

Dr. P u m p - N i ic k e 1. I assure you again, ma- 
dame, he was not here. 

Mrs. Combden. I know you will not hide it from 
me. If you knew how unhappy I am, but, in spite of all 
misfortune, am bent on bringing about a through happi- 
ness in our dual life, that should be one, if it occurs to 
you, that the future of a baby is a sacred duty to not only 
father and mother, but to every right thinking man and 
woman, oh ! you could not, then, look on with indifference 
while a rolling avalan'che threatens to bury the very 
existence of a family under its crushing weight. 

D r. P u m p - N i € ik e 1. Is it as bad as all that ? 

'Mrs. Combden (nodding). It is. 

Gus. Can you tell where Irving is. 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. I have not seen him for 
some time, sir. 

26 



Mrs. C o m b d e n (wiping tears). Perhaps, you 
can aid me. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Well, I really do not — 
quite see. 

M r s. C m b d e n. You belonged to his friends who 
persuaded him to marry me, and made me believe he lov- 
ed me. I appeal to your honesty, Doctor. I have been 
deceived. 

Dr. P u m p - N i € k e 1. I am sure, he loves you 
still. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. But he is cruel — Yet, Irving is 
a good-hearted fellow. It is the company of such degene- 
rates, as Mr. Cutler, that spoils him. But is one a man 
who throws his family aside for the sake of some friend? 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e I (reflecting). Hm — indeed — 
you are on the right track. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. I could forgive him. I do not 
care to cause him such sorrow, as relatio-ns are desirous of 
troubling him with. If I'll see him to-day, I shall be calm, 
nay, I shall be gentle as never before, and I know he wiH 
forget the past. 

Dr. Pump- Nickel. There— are — circumstances. 
Do you remember Miss Ruby Hart? 

Gus. Ah! 

Mrs. Co m b d e n (agitated, yet calm). And ? 

Mrs. Combden is listening attentively to noise from side door, 
whither she had gone as though in search of something. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Miss Ruby Hart was here 
to-day and spoke of Irving. 

M r s. C o m b d e n (agitated, suddenly returns to the 
other side where Gus and Doctor are). How foolish I 
am! Did I not want to forgive and forget? As for that 
woman — ^she is too co'mmon a thing to take up any O'f 
our time, and (quickly turning to middle entrance) if it 
be for her sake, that he neglects his matrimonial duties, 
I can rest assured that his will not be the happier lot. I 

26 



bid you goodby, Doctor, 
silence. 



Guard our confidence ' with 



Doctor, Gus, and Mrs. Combden leave through middle door. 
Irving and Litchfield enter through side door. 

Irving. There cannot be anything more stupid 
than the blind belief in an authority. Never trust a word. 
Always doubt it. Never take a truth for granted unless 
your mind has totally conceived it, and then be ready to 
defend it. It really pains m^e to listen to a student. One 
could rather suffer the acrobatic hallucinations of an il- 
literate who flies in a jiffy from earths painful misery to 
heavens golden promises. 

Litchfield. You are a skeptic. 

Irving. It is not worth while wreaking cnes 
brain to find it out. I am simply a sentimental fool. For 
fellows like mie tihe task of -sinking into positive re- 
searches is very hard. We are amidst a yawling crowd 
and cannot collect our thoughts ; we yell like the rest. 
Our mind is like the wind that whizzes through the trem- 
bling trees over a meadow; it is like the breeze that 
blows the sand up over the housetops of the village road; 
like a whining storm that sweeps over hill and bush and 
forest, — first meekly crying its agony, tlhen whistling 
despair and misery from a thousand tired and dried gigan- 
tic lungs, and finally throwing its fury and rage over the 
habitations of mankind, tearing and smashing and rolling 
away its resources, and stunning the wondering world 
into stupidity. Calmly and slowly and carefully do we 
weigh our convictions and answers, while no pain has 
smitten our passions. We stagger in stagnation as a sud- 
den adversi't> props up to threaten our progress. We 
take a deep breath of indignation and courage to throw 
down all resolute opposition, and once fixed with the pas- 
sion of rage, do not philosophize as to the harm we har- 
vest or to the injustice we incur. To be ever calm and 
dispassionate is to be ever reminded by the alertness of 
an undisturbed tranquility of the soul, means to be ever 
unmolested by any sentiments of love and hatred. And 
do not praise me that soul ! 

27 



Litchfield. Shades of Plato and Aristotle ! Your 
wisest counsels are ignored by pour best pupils. Oh, the 
sentiments of love and hatred were not known to you! 

Irving. Why confuse ideal godliness with pain- 
ridden humankind ! We do all not to suffer and not to 
fear, said other wise men of Greece. And just so, my 
friend. And in order to live without suffering and fear, 
let us in time of need and obstruction conquer the enemy 
that creates them. Let us be human and enjoy our human 
weaknesses, if they be pleasureable, moderately and 
wisely, but let us never forget to build upon our human 
imagnitude and let us not permit our bestial masters to 
prescribe for us. 

Litchfield. And yet, one could continually doubt ; 
and find the foregoing premises wrong. And you can 
never reach the goal of absolute truth. 

Irving. You are a philosopher, and as such doubt ; 
doubt is a factor you cannot do without. Doubt is but so 
long permissible as knowledge will uphold it. But beyond 
that — doubt is the mother of suspicion, and suspicion is a 
field bedecked with lightning bugs. You may stand on 
the road and gaze at the glimmering lights yonder. You 
may delight in the dreamy probability of a wondrous 
city waiting there, filled with brilliiant spectacles. But 
as you proceed to approach it, you will sink into the poi- 
sonous mud of a pestiferous meadow. 

Litchfield. And still — with all your armor of 
knowledge, you are not happy. Doubt has not satisfied 
you. 

Irving. If carefully weighed, it has saved me from 
a great many disappointments. But the thoughtful mind 
has too much to deplore within the sphere of conventio- 
nality and force ; it has too often to withdraw from plea- 
sure. Acquaintances, friends, love, and lore are not for 
him who knows them best, for their thoroughness is 
lacking. The thoughtful man seems to possess strange 
moods, to walk strange ways. And the world is strange 
to the man of strange ways and mood. The thoughtless 
are the happy people, and are well received. 

28 



Litchfield. You have not always spn^k^en thus. 
You are overworked, and I advise you to abstain from 
your nightly studies. 

Irving. Just a little nervous. The scene of last 
night will not leave my mind. 

Litchfield. Come, Irving, divert your mind. 
And tlhe-n go home and speak calmly to her, and make up. 

Irving. Oh, if I could! But that cold eye, that 
affected mannerism, that reticent answer, that calculated 
behavior of Mildred freeze my tongue. (After a pause, 
resolute.) Still, I will go. She will love me the more 
for this frankness. Doubt shall not point to danger and 
disappointment, doubt shall not sneer my happiness away. 

Dr. Pump- Nickel returns. 



Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. What criminal negligence ! 

Irving. W;hat excitement ! And no good-morning! 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Why, your wife just kft 
me. 

Irving. Mildred here ? 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. You talked so loud that she 
recognized your voice. 

living. But she did not listen to our conver- 
sation? 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. I wish you had less courage 
and more forethought. Satisfied to know you in the 
house, she hurried off. 

Irving. What was the nature of her visit? 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. She heard you were sick 
and was careworn. 

Irving. Ah, I must run home ! (Going to door.) 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. I thought you w^ere to leave 
the city. 

Irving. I — leave the city? Nonsense. 

D r. P u mp -Nickel. I advise you to do it. 

Irving (returning). And why? 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. To give her time. She ought 
to be left alone for a while. She might, then, recognise * 
her mistake. 

29 



Irving. Riddles and nothing but riddles. As a 
matter of fact, if anyone of us has made a mistake, it 
was I. 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. Yet, I advise you to leave. 
You know, I am your friend. 

Litchfield. If it be impossible to adjust matters 
otherwise, the only conclusive step to take, would be a 
suit for divorce. 

Irving. Never! 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Litchfield's advice is good. 
And tihe Worthingtons wild .eadily name and pay for a 
correspondent. 

Irving. Dirty, too dirty. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Did you not receive at the 
office the visit of somie of your friends to-day? 

Irving. No, I did not. But why? 

D r. P u m p - N i € k e 1. I merely ask. Mrs. Comb- 
den meant some lady friend might wish to interfere. 

Irving (restless). There must be something in 
all that. Mildred here, advice to leave, a lady friend. A 
warning, suspicion, jealously. The Worthingtons are ca- 
pable of doing anything for revenge. But she is my wife. 
She is a mother; the mother of my child. She cannot 
array herself against me, against her husband, against 
the father of her child, — because the uncle demands it. — 
No, no, uncle Henri, you see ghosts. I do. not doubt your 
friendship. But you see ghosts. You cannot feel the 
li'eartache of a father, mor his joy, 'his hope, his strength. 
You have never appeased a pitifully shrieking baby in 
your arms. The winning smile from tiny lips has never 
thanked you. 

Servant (announcing). A gentleman wishes to see 
Mr. Combden. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Send him in ! (Servant 
opens door, exit.) 

A Detective enters. 

Detective (approaching Irving). Is your name 
Irving Gombden? 

Irving. Yes, sir. 

30 



Detective. I have here a w^arrant for you arrest. 

L i t € -h f i e 1 d (seizing arm of Irving) . Impos- 
sible ! 

Irving (determined) . Well ! 

Detective. Issued on the request of 'Mrs. Mildred 
Combden. 

Irving (ipained). And why? 

D e t e c t i ve. Can I speak to yo-u alone? 

Dr. Pirrri'p-Nickel meets the eye of Irving Combden and turns 

away a^bashed. 

Irving (aside with Detective). What can I do? 

Detective. The accusations are of the meanest 
nature. But I am sorry for you, because you are a gentle- 
man. If you have a lawyer — ^spare no money. If you 
have none, Til give you one. Prepare yourself for the 
worst, for the judge has made up his mind,yand it will be 
darnd hard to say a word to yo'ur benefit. But money 
goes far, and my lawyer is influential. 

Mr. Worthingt'On and Mrs. Combden enter. 

'M r. W o r t h i n g t o n (shaking Dr. Pump-Nickers 
hand). Doctor, you are a gentleman. 

Irving. Is that your wish, Mildred, or your 
uncle's revenge? 

Mrs. Combden. For the ohild^s sake ! 

Irving (agitated). Let us go, officer! 



31 



III. ACT. 



I. SCENE. 

Jail. In the rear a long and broad bench, on which some prison- 
ers lie of sit. Side door to hall, partly visible. Soime prisoners 
walk up and down in despair. Some converse freely. 

PRISONERS. 

First Prison. Ha, ha, ba ! I tell ye boys we'll 
have sport. I seen a feller \vii<i patten ledders an' he's 
comin here. They've talked *some darned nonsense into 
him biut he wont listen. He's the rig^ht kind of a man, 
he is. 

Second Prison. What's your case ? 

First Prison. Hello, me boy. Shake hands. 
Guess I seen you before over on the island, aint it? 

S e c o n d P r i s o n. On the island? Not on yer sweet 
life ! I've always paid my fine alrigiht. But this time, I be 
darned if I di'nt blow it all in. Now its fi' days for in- 
tox'cation. What's yours? 

First Prison. Five days ! Peanuts. I dont take 
less'n a months. I've kicked the stuffins out o' my wife, 
a-n' when I git out I'll make a balloon out o'her mug. You 
can take your oath on that! 

Third Prison. By gosh ! That's soimethin' for 
somethin! But I! Vvc done notihin but asked for a nights 
free lodgiin' an' they gives me tree months for vagrancy. 

Fourth Prison. Dat's just where the bloomin* 
thing comes in, old chap. Der-e aint a cold night during the 
winter dat I wont apply fer a free lodgin. I knows I gets 
tree months free lodgin from the magistrate. He's a good 
jackass. Dat's just the beauty. I aint goin to freeze and 
starve as long as we've got the jails. Not on yer tintype, 
Mike. Look a here. If ye want tersleep, there's yer bed, 

32 



an' they keep ye in good health, fer ye got to lie down 
early wid de chickens. If ye wants a bat'h, why dere^s de 
douche, just take yer ready made cloths off thats better 
than yer own. If ye need a shave, dere's the banbershop 
an ye lie down like a lord an' have them niggers an' gin- 
neys 'tend to you. If yer hungry, dere's yer grub waitin' 
for you three times a day an' ye eat in a hurry an' much 
' more than ever! cause the keeper commands you dere wid 
-the stick in his hands an' you're so excited you dont know 
when you're filled up. If ye want to smoke and ye got 
the boodle, dere are plenty o' neaks to buy tobacco from, 
and there's plenty o' paper in the waterclosets. If ye aint 
got no money, deres always same goodnatured fellow 
'rounid that's got it an' will give you it for the askin. Giv 
me the island anytime I can't make me livin. 

Four Boys are shoved in by Keeper. 

First Boy. Let's ihave a game o'cards. 

Second Boy (liaying down on bench). I dont 
care. 

T *h i r d Boy. Brace up, kid ! 

Fourth Boy (lying on bench). Dis is a hard bed. 

Fourth Prison. What's the matter wid youz? 

Boys. Ridin freights. 

Fourth P r is o n. Dats the way I started. (Boast- 
fully.) Dere aint a state dat I aint seen, and there aint a 
track I di'nt inspect. But dey only caug'ht me when I 
wanted a lodgin. Well, dis aint the w.orst place. Out in 
Mass ye get better feed. I be darned il ye see a decent 
piece of meat in dis rotten hole. 

First Boy. Were you ever in Colorado? 

Fourth Prison. Was I? Holy jiimpin Jemine! 
I've been all throu;^h ohe mines an' if I'd a cared a snap 
I'd a picked the godddust up by the bushel. But dem aint 
my s'entiments. I want to travel an' see the great world, 
the variety o' things an' peoples, I do. But, boys, if ever 
-#ye start out in life and want to see a fat stretch o' land, 
go to Utah ! Hell, they talk about the Mormons. Dey're 

33 



alrig^ht. Dey've got a rich land an' feed ye well and like 
ye an' don' sack ye right along. 

Irving remains confused at door, then walks to corner. 

S e 'c o n d P r i iS o n. Petty larceny, e'h ? 

I r V i n g (looks at him amazed). 

iFoiurth Prison. Nothin' of the kind, that's in- 
toxic at ion. 

T h i 1 'd Prison. Nonsense, he would a' paid the 
fine. 

First P r i s on. Dey couldn't get you 'way, coiuld 
dey ? 

Fourth Prison. I seen ye with a woman, Mister 
Was that yer wife? 

First P r i s on. Here ye are — lanother wife case ! 

F i if t Ih P r i is o ii ( delirious) . 

Oh, show me the way to Golgotha ! 
Help me carry the cross. 

The prisoners turn away from Irving and approach the 
delirious man. 

Fifth Prison. 

The Christians have stolen from Golgotha : 
lAnd hung 'round us the cross. 

Irving (approach him). The man is trembling. 
He is sick, and — 

First Prison. Why, 'he's got a deep gash in his 
head. I s'ppo'se diat's the cops mark. 

F o u r t h P r i s o n. Bveryibody wid a cop's m'ark 
belongs in here. 

Sixth Priison (han^iless lunatic). Did yo'u ever 
see a stocking that didn't cure diphtheria? Hang it ro'und 
the mean's neck and he'll be well. (S'howing the stocking.) 
I blew into my stocking and a policeman locked me up. 
And because I 'belong to Philadelphia, the judge put me 
in jail. But if the policeman had given me time, I should 
have invented the flying machine and gone home in 
triumiph. ^j^jf! 

34 



F i f t h P r i s o n. 

It is quite many a year ago, 

A tramp like you and me 
Stood likewise in a prisoners woe 

And died that we be free. 

Oh, sihow m^e the way to Golgot/ha! 

Thiey hung Yoiumd us tlhe cnass, 
The Christians have stolen from Golgotha: 

Take away my life and my loss ! 

The prisoners have surrounded the wounded man, they view 

him attentively, some taking off their hats, some drying their 

eyes. Suddenly an organ is playing in hall. Two Women 

appear at door. Boys whistle. Men groan and grunt. 

First W O' m a n. Now here, men, would you not, 
please, keep quiet for a minute and listen to the words of 
our Saviour and Lord, Jesus Christ? 

Fourth Prison. Git ! You're no company. 

He takes a ball fro)m his shoe and plays with it off and on 
during the whole scene. 

F i r s t W o im a n. Young man, let mie just a'ddress to 
yo/u a few words. Once, on a day like this, I met a yoiung 
m>an oif about your age in a place just li'ke this. He was 
just as careless about his future and that of his soul — 
just like you. 

Fourth Prison. Just stop j'ust. (Men laiugh.) 

Fifth Prison (delirious) . 

The Christians have stolen from Golgotha 
And hung 'round us the cross. 

First Woman. I spoke to him a few words — 

F o 11 r t 'h P r i s o n. Just like now. 

F i r s t W o m a n. Yes, just as I speak to you now, 
I asked hiim to open his heart to the omnipotent mercy o-f 
our Lord — • 

Second Woman. Blessed be His Name ! 

35 



'First Woini'ain. Anid penmit the entrance of the 
gneatest fneed'oim oif giood wiH to altlimamkindan^d of friend- 
slhip with tihe wofM a'nid God, tihiat he miay acquire self- 
reliance to sustain him in all trials and temptations — 

Boys. 

It is quite many a year ago, 
* A tramp like you and me, 

Stood likewise in a prisoner's woe 
And died that we be free. 

F i r s t W o m a n. He was moved 'by my words and 
converted and returned to the lo^ving serine of O'ur Lord. 

Second Woman. Blessed be His Name ! 

First Woman. And o wonder of our Lord ! 

Second Woman. Blessed be His Namie ! 

'F i r s t W o m a n. The next time I saw him . 

Fourth Prison. He 'had an employment office 
and sold any young girl that cam'e 'long to any of your 
paymasters that co-uld put up for it. 

Laughter, whistling, grunts. Organ plays again. 

Second W o m a n. My heart breaks, when I see 
these boys already in the clutches of the devil. 

First Boy. You're an old dope. We aint done 
notlhin'. 

S e c o n d Woman. I say to you : Return, while 
there is time. Confess your sins trustfully and God will 
forgive yom. Have nO' mercy with yourself and the Lord 
will have mercy with you. Kneel down ^before your 
Maker and He will raise you up. Pray to him and He 
wild give you the strength to repair your daimages. 

Boys. 

They used to tell a tale of love. 

Of brotherhood and truth, 

TheyVe burned the tale of freedom and Love 

And have buried the blood of the youth. 

The women leave. It is getting dark. Keeper is seen lighting 

hall. 

36 



First Prison. Here, Keeper ! 
Keeper. What's that? Lie down there now an* 
shut up ! 

Fourth Prison. Keeper, Keeper ! 
Ke'eper (at diotor). Well? 
ChorusofPrison. You're a watchdog. 

Men lie down. Irving sits in front of stage. 

Irving (leaving seat). Has a common lot thrown 
us together to a common fate? Has the dear trust of the 
world, its esteem and friendship — fled from me as well 
as from them? Will suspicion view me quickly and reject 
me \Vhen good intentions and brave deeds are wanted? 
What have you done, Mildred ! And yet, I am to blame. 
I played carelessly when I should have acted wisely. I 
gave her cold looks when she longed for warm caresses. 

Keeper. Shut up there and lie down, damn fool ! 

Irving (sits down). 

S'eventh Prison (sits down next to him) . Ex- 
cuse me, if I interrupt yO'U. B'ut, I see, you do not belong 
here. Have you no friends to take your away? 

Irving. I refused to leave this place, for reasons 
I cannot explain to you. 

S e V e n t h P r i s o n. Man, you go to your ruin. I am 
a living example. So'me twenty years ago I was a pro'S- 
perous broker. My only crime was jealousy. And while 
in such fits I used to drink. My wife did not care for me, 
and, yet, I was madly infatuated with her. One day, 
while at home in a somewhat intoxicated stage, an officer 
enters and takes me to the station ho-use. The next day 
I was iconfronted with her in the Court, and, yet stupefied 
and unprepared, was convicted to six months in the 
Workhouse. I was not given time to speak. The Magis- 
trate had precluded tihat I was a brute, and that my wife 
was maltreated. Stubbornly I now rejected all help from 
my friends and resolved to make my six months. When 
I came out I left the city. Three years later I returned, 
filled with a desire to see my children, and found my wife 
living under the same roof with a man whom I had al- 
ways suspected of being the disturber of our 'happiness. 

37 



I tho'Ught my beautiful girl and 'bright boy disgraced, and, 
per'haps, unhappy, and in need of their father. But I was 
overcome with indignatio-n. The Courts, I knew, could 
not rectify matters, and I took the sword of justice in my 
own hands. One evening I saw the couple sitting on the 
veranda. I rushed up to him, grabbed him by the throat, 
fully prepared to choke him to death. Her screams 
attracted the attention of the n'eigihbonhooid, I was soon 
again in the hands of the police. I was s-ent to prison for a 
couiple years. — I have resolved to forget all about my 
past. Biut my worry over the s'hame of it and over the 
lo^ss of my children drives me tO' drink. And so, whenever 
I have no money to pay my fine, I -aim sent to jail. I judge 
that your's is a similar case. You are young. Discard 
all thoughts of revenge, accept the help of your friends. 
Learn from my ex-ample and save yourself. Do not worry! 
Forget your wife, since she does not care for you. She 
wants you out of 'her way. Will you do her the favor by 
playing the martyr? Return to the world, but with the 
am'bition to not load the wheel of your fortune with re- 
grets and revenge. 

Irving. To be honest, I must admit that my con- 
duct was not proper. Still, I can forgive my wife, know- 
ing that I have wronged her. 

Seventh P r i s o n. But yo-u have never held up 
your wife for public humiliation ! 

Keeper. Shut up, there. No chattin' there ! 

Prisoner and Irving lie down. 

Irving (aside). Mildred is not as bad as the 
other woman he spoke of. — ^But I can not remain here. 
He is right. I must return to her and clear up the my- 
stery. Or should I never return to her, never see her? (he 
falls asleep.) 



m 



n 



38 



FIRST VISION: 

A rocky shore. It is Midday. Ruby Hart comes flying down 

from top and falls into arms of Irving who stands near 

waters €dge. 

SECOND VISION: 

Irving boards a car in country. Between trees of the road the 

sun is seen setting. Ruby waves handkerchief. When 

car is out of sight, she throws herself down upon 

the grass, and cri^s: Irving, come back! 

THIRD VISION: 

A dingy room. Judge points at Irving who stands with Mrs. 
Combden holding baby in arm before him. 

Irving (madly crying). Baby ! My poor baby ! 
Voices. Shut up! 
Boys (in subdued tone). 

Oh, show me the way to Golgotha ! 

They hiuintg 'rouinid us the crois's, 
The Christians have stolen from Golgotha: 

Take away my life and my loss ! 

Irving awakens, jumps up, looks wildly round and falls to floor. 



II. SCENE. 



The Same as in First Act. 



iM r s. C o m b d e n. Now that he is in prison, I fear 
him. The letter breathes some resolution. The freedom 
I hoped to gain horn the Courts, mig-'ht turn out to be- 
come his freedom and my torture. (Reading.) "Dear 
Mildred!" Why, dear? Is he trying to trap me? Are we 
changing arms? ''A terrible mistake is made. You made 
the mistake; but I forgive you." How s'ly ! ''Save me if 

39 



you can, and you can if you want it/' Did I not know 
the price for 'his courtesy ! *'I refused the help of my 
friends. Only my wife, who has placed me in this shame- 
ful condition, shall lift me from its dangers. As I see my 
future and yours'' don't worry, poor boy! ''and baby's, 
I cannot imagine but that a great calamity must follow 
such a thoughtless tstep. Save yourself and baby while 
saving me." Just the reverse, hubby ! ''If yo-u do not wish 
to do it, then take care to never mention to baby his 
father's name, who was a convict, never to sadden an 
innocent heart of confidence with the glocm of prison at 
its cradle." What a grand apotheosis ! "Ycurs in old love 
Lving." Old love? Old? Rotten! How could he suspect 
me of such stupidity as one should necessarily be pos- 
sessed of in order to release ones captive without any 
reward ! 

A knock at door. Mrs. Comibden opens and Dr. P u m p - 
Nickel enters. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k € 1. Mrs. Combden, I come in 
regard to your husband. He is not to be approached by 
logic any more. 

M T ,s. C o m b d e n (offering boith hands) . Dear Doc- 
tor, try all you can. You have always prided yourself 
with being his friend, show me your willingness to help 
»him. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. But, madam, there is a dif- 
ficulty. Where business starts, friendship ends. Your 
husband, not giving consent to the release, will not con- 
sider himself bound to the conditions of the bonds. I ex- 
pect 'him to leave the city after his release from jail. You 
understand, madam, that, what might not be considered 
a big balm on affections, is a painful loss if spent on 
friendship. 

Mrs. Combden. You consider my affections or 
his friendship? 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Only your affections. 

'M r s. Co'm'bd e-n. You are very liberal. And you 
say that Irving wo'uld leave the city? 

40 



Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. No doubt. I know him. 

'Mrs. C o m b d e n. But I must first be entirely 
liberated from him. 

Dr. Pump Nickel. Let that be my care. .1 sha^l 
be worthy of your affections. 

Mrs. Comb'den (ironically). Irving was of your 
friendship. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1 (warmly). Where were my 
eyes so many years ! My fortune cannot balance your 
affections. Madam, do not look with contempt at me. 
While my figure is not stately, my age not youthful, my 
lips not eloiquent, my services as a friend are weighty. 
And my purse shall throw its contents to your feet the 
moment you have decided to shower your affections upon 
it^ owner, who not only admires the grace of your statue 
but worships the godly lustre of your mind. 

Mrs. C o m lb d e n. Enough, Doctor. Remem'ber, I 
am a married woman. 

D r. P u m p - N i ck e 1. A married woman! Many 
a married woman has chosen a wrong lot. So have you. 
B'Ut it is not written in the stars, that a sad predestination 
has 'become her steady suitor and adviser. You are too 
smart as to believe in the rigmarole of such fairy tales. 
You are too much in lo;ve with the sparkling pleasure of 
life as to tie your fate to the wheels of a rusty wagon that 
might break down any moment and stop your joyful 
itinerancy. We are all born to enjoy llrfe ; all born to pluck 
the roses of happiness as we meet them. And a married 
woman is no exception to the rule. There is no sense in 
the moral, and no ethic in its observation. Love is the 
child of the impulse. Passion is its father and sympathy 
its mother. And do not try to stifle the child's nature. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Doctor, pray, let us talk of 
something else. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Anything to please you. Let 
us talk of something else. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Let us talk of Irving. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Rather — not, Mrs. Comb- 
den, We might return to you. 

41 



Mrs. C o m b d e n. Will yon not do anything for 
him? 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Impossible. He does not 
assent to tbe conditions. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. He will not deceive you. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Ycu cannot tiell. This ex- 
periertce 'has certainly changed him radically. And it was 
for that reason that I wanted him to leave the city. 

iM r s. C o m b d e.n. Then it wo'uld be best to leave 
him in jail. — But no, no. That would be the worst thing 
of all. 

Di. Pump-Nickel. Sure enough. He has al- 
ready, necessarily and logically, become your bitterest 
enemy. Ah, he will not lovingly return into your arms ; 
'his face will not glory in smiling ho'pe. His mind can 
be moved with but o^ne thought, and that is: Revenge! 
You have plunged the man who generously had saved 
you 

M r s. C o m 'b d e n. Doctor ! 

Dr. P'U m p - N i c k e 1. Pardon, madam. We are 
not strangers and you might permit me to talk freely. I 
need not express my sympathy in vain words ; you have 
proofs of my friendship. With my assistance, you real- 
ized your ambition, and he married you. With my 
silence — you reached your next zeal and he was humi- 
liated. I ask you, wlhether a friendship, like mine, be not 
worthy of greater gratitude than you show. And I ask 
you, whether a friends'hip, like -mine, deserves such 
prudery as you think proper to re'ceive me with. You are 
his wife, and you profess to love him. Perhaps you do 
love 'him ; I think not. But your are his wife. Yod have 
a great deal to fear, for you are his enemy. Go and for- 
give him. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. No, no, never ! 

Dr. Pu m p - N i c k e 1. If not, then it is desirable 
that you never meet. For — ^and I am going to tell you 
all I know — ^he has threatened to kill you. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Mercy ! 

42 



D r. P u on p - N i € k e ll (pressing her hands warmly) . 
Dear Mrs. Combden, how I pity you. B^ut rely on me ! I 
will help you. 

iM r s. C o m b d e n. How I thank you. 

D r. P u ;pi iP - N i c k e .1 (slowly laying arm round her 
waist). Dear Mrs. Combden, love needs no contract and 
freedom needs no seal. 

Mrs. C o m b d e ,n. Oh, I am in such straits ! 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1 (kissing her hand, drawing 
her upon lounge). Be quiet, madam'. You are young 
and beautiful. You have a natural right to enjoy life. 
Foir nature has provided you witlh all powers of fascinat- 
ing and enjoying. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. But, Do'ctor, be silent. 

Dr. P u m 'p - N i c k e 1. Silent as reason paralyzed 
with passion (emhrassing her /iolenitly). Silent as a wor- 
shipper miute from devotion (kneeling). 



43 



IV. ACT. 

Garden in Country. Cottage nearby. Irving and Mrs. 
C o m >b d e n sitting at table. 

Irving. Forget the past. A new life will bring 
mdescribable happiness. 

iM rs. C o m b d e n. Oh, how I wish it! 

Irving. Never 'have my intentions been so earnest 
as they are now. Don't hesitate. I never knew, how 
deepily I loved you but in t'he hour of my misery. 

(M r s. C o m b d e n. If your iove were half as true as 
mine, Irving! 

Irving (kying down and grasping her hand). Give 
me that hand that has punished me. Oh, let me hope it 
will take me back ! Let me hope, it will deliver into my 
keeping all the sacred privileges of love and 'happiness, 
and hold me dear a^s in the days of our first meetings. 
How cruelly cold have I 'been to you, when I was ready 
to throw my passions into your arms, and cry out in bitter 
tears of disappointed love. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Yes, you embittered every hour 
of my life. 

Irving. Forgive me. Let us return to our home 
and let me adore you day and night. Let me not go 
away from here alone and in despair. My heart is filled 
with remorse and my soul is beaten by my conscience. 
I feel strength and my heart is soft w^hen I am with you 
and you smile and speak to me. But — when I am alone- 
thoughts of revenge trem'ble within me. Have mercy, 
Mildred! 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Love knows neither mercy nor 
law. And my hope and desire is to be reunited with you 
in happiness, and forever. 

Irving. In happines's and forever ! (Sits down 
and embraces her.) Forever! Oh, Mildred, when I was 
alone and the night had come with all its quietude, and 

44 



I was wide awake and dreamt of our future ! How happy 
was I in my resolutions. I spoke to you and laughed 
wit^h you and caressed you as thoug'h you were near me. 
And what sweet and metodious words you spoke to me ! 
And then yO'U cried bitter'ly over your mistake and 'my 
sufferings. You were all sympathy. And I joked an^d kis- 
sed those teans away. 

Mrs. C o m lb d e n (releasing herself from the em- 
biace, leaving seat). Oh, Irving, if you but spoke the 
truth ! 

Irving. Don't doubt, my dear. My heart is yours 
and my life belongs to you. (Leaving seat.) But if it 
be decided between you and your people that you can- 
not love me, have the courage to speak. Tell me you can- 
not think of a reunion, you cannot forget miy cruelty, you 
cannot believe my words, my oaths, my tears ; tell me that 
we must part forever, — tell me it and oe a free woman. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. We are so poor ! 

Irving. If love cares for no law, as you said -be- 
fore, it cares less for riches. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. B(Ut you were n'ever moved by 
my tears. 

Irving. Your tears burned my heart. Your sobs 
drove me mad. I longed for friendly words, for sympa- 
thetic laug^hter. 

Mr. and Mrs. Worthington come out of House. At 
seeing Ir\nmg (they show un^aisiness. 

M r. W o r t h i n g t o n. I did — not — expect — 

Irving. I could not stay away. I came to ask 
Mildred to forgive and forget. 

Mr. Wort'hington. To forgive and forget ! Let 
me tell yo;u that I consider — ^to speak with my heart o^n 
my tongue — that I consider all such talk ridiculous. You 
have brutally treated our daiughter, and after getting a 
dose of your own medicine you are trying to play some 
foul trick. 

Mrs. Worthington. Exactly. 

Irving. That is hard. 

45 



Mr. Wo r t h i n g t o n. It is. But to treat you 
with any leniency is unnecessary. 

Mrs. W o r t h i n g t o n. Unnecessary. 

Irving. I confess — I have sinned. But my in- 
tentions are good, and I want a chance to show them. 

Mr. Worthington. I don't believe you, and my 
daughter has loist all faitih in you. 

Mrs. Worthington. Indeed. 

Irving. Mildred, did you lose all faith in me? 

Mrs. C o m b d e n (evaisively). I really cannot ans- 
wer n/ow. 

Irving. Mrs. Worthington, yotu are a mother. 
Yo'U iknow the respoinsiMliti'es of .a panent — 

M r s. W o r t h i n g t o n. At present there can be 
no tallk of a reico-niciliation. iMy pioor MiiMred is in too 
delicate a condition to return to the city and to resume 
tihe duties oif a slavish hiousamard. Yoiu are not lalbl'e do sur- 
round her with sudh -comfort as tihe reistoratiom of her 
health requires. Let us begin to talk about it a few 
months later. 

Irving. A few months! How easily it is said. A 
few monil^hs. Wiiill not a weeik 'be siufifiioient to drive me 
mad? Why keep me in s^uspense? And a few months ! And 
all the sleepless nights ! No, no, have the courage to say 
the truth. You are standing between m'e and my child. 
I ask you, Mildred, can you not forgive, will you not re- 
turn with me and forget? 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Let us abide by mother's wish. 

Irving. Then I say good-by to you. (Going to- 
wards door.) 

Mr. W o r t h i n g t o n. One moment, Irving. 

Irving (returning). But one moment. 

Mr. Worthington. I cannot understand this 
sudden change of yo^ur mind and behavior. But I want 
to be fairer with you than you have been with me. Go, 
look for a decent position, and after you have found it, 
live with us. If you really lov'e Mildred, show your con- 
fidence in her by turning over your earnings to her safe- 
keeping. 

Irving. Is that all you want? 

46 



iM r. W o r t h i n g t o n. That is all. And if you are 
in earnest you will not object. I want to see for a few 
months, whether your behavior is worthy of any con- 
I'idence from our family. In the same time I give you an 
opportunity to regain the respect and love of our daugh- 
ter. But it must be understood that the legal proceed- 
ings have not been in vain, and that the bonds remain 
intact. 

Irving. Stop ! 

'M r. W o r t h i n g t o n. Very well. You can 
choose. 

I r V i ng. This is not a matter upon which you have 
to decide. 

Mr. W OT't h i in'g|toi,n. Yie<t iit is my wi'M against 
your choice. 

Irving. I never cared to enter the race with you. 
But if I determine to do it you shall find me ahead of 
you. 

Mr. Worthington. I have nothing to say to 
you any more. 

Mr. and Mrs. Worthington go into cottage. 

Irving (approaching Mrs. Co-mbden who hangs 
lantern on some trees). Mildred! 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. You see I am powerless. 

Irving*. Forget. You misrht regret your stu'b- 
borness. Think of our common child. 

Mrs. C o m b d 'e n. What can I do ? 

Irving. Where is the baby? 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Under the care of a nurse. 

Irving. Good-by ! (leaves.) 

Mrs. Comhden looks at direction where Irving disappeared then 

goes into house, at entrance of wh'ch she meets Dr. Martin 

and M i s h e 1 1 e. Greeting they pass by. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. They are just working my way, Doc. 
That fuol of a brother has beco'm'e such a willing tool m 
•my hands, that I nearly forgot your work in my behalf. 

Dr. Mia r It in. Well, I have squared matters with 
Irving. He thought he had ruined my prestige by lifting 

47 



the veil from certain practices in the hospital. But I have 
ruined him. Yet your affairs do not concern me. And for 
the furtherance of your ambitions I have not raised a 
finger. Of course, Combden's bad luck might turn out to 
become your happy lot. And the work of his brother-in- 
law who felt himself ridiculed in the presence of Irving, 
helped my cause along. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. You should watch the eagerness with 
which Gus swallows every insinuation I throw on Comb- 
den's name. Why, he seems to get intoxicated with every 
story calculated to tear Combden's character into frag- 
ments, to cover his reputation with mud. Delighted he 
runs with such tidings to his sister, and the result is — 

Dr. Martin. The rising of some hopes in your 
mind. 

M i s h e 1 1. The appreciation of my philanthropic 
sentiments, and their growing contempt of Co-mbden. 

Dr. Martin. And that gives you hope? 

M i s h e 1 1 (indignant). Have I- not worked syste- 
matically? You don't doubt that my genius will carry me 
throiuiglh? 

D r. M a r t i n. A genius has original ways. Your 
system is shaky from age. 

M i s he! 1 (insulted). I hope you are not becoming 
offensive. 

Dr. Martin. Why should I ! But lies are a poor 
foundation. 

M i s h e 11. Who says that but a liar ! 

Dr. Martin. No excitement, pkase. I don't care 
to hear that name Combden mentioned any more. And 
I surely am averse to all trouble. 

'M i s h e 1 1. I guess you ought to be. The situation 
was becoming pretty hot. 

Dr. Martin. Is it? We better go among some 
cooler headed people. 

Exit into house. 

M i s h e 1 1 (exited). Such an ins'ult ! 
Miss Hennessey and Gus come out, evidently at odds. 

Gus. Hello, Mishelle. 

48 



iM i(S'h e 1 1 e. Glaid to see you, Miss Hennessey. 

M i s s H e n n e s s e y. Very kind of you. 

'G u s. They are all waiting for you. 

'M i s h e 1 1'e. Why, indeed. Au revoir! (Exit into 
house.) 

Miss Hennessey. You have grown so cold of 
late, Gus. 

G u s. The trouble that wrecked the happiness oi 
Mildred — 

'Miss Hennessey. You can't fool me, Gus. She 
has .never been less troubled than since Irving's arrest. 
She has gained 'her object. Talk to me sens'C. I want to 
know the truth. 

Gus. What do you want to know? 

Miss Hennessey. The truth, I said. 

G u s. And what's that? 

!M i s s Hennessey. Indeed, that is strange to 
you. 

G u s. Did you come to argue? 

Miss Hennessey. I came to ask you this 
question. We were to be married in a few weeks. Did 
you change your mind? 

G u s. This is a sudden question. 

Miss Hennessey. Have you not enough cou- 
rage to answer it? Shall I ask Mrs. Combden? 

G'U s. I will explain everything, Miss Hennesey. 

Miss Hennessey. Miss Hennessey? And why 
not Kate ? 

Gus. Or Miss Kate. 

Miss Hennessey (determined). If Miss Hen- 
nessey or Miss Kate be the same to you, it is not to me. 
And rather than be fooled by a simpleton like you, I 
throw your ring into your sullen face (takes ring from 
finger and throws it at him). How could I be so stupid. 
I and yo'U a pair! Blessed I am that I found you out ere 
it was too late. 

Gus. Enough or — 

Miss Hennessey (in rage). Or ! You dare to 
utter an offensive word to me, you dare to touch my 

49 



honor with your imbecile fury. Oh, were I a man ! No 
longier- should such perfidious serpents cover o>ur paths ; 
no longer would such a diabolical falsehood wear its head 
so high. 

Gus (in threatening attitude). Miss Hennessey! 

Miss Hennessey (approaching) . Strike, cow- 
ard. Here I stand, Mr. Worthington. Try your strength 
on a woman and you shall find a superior, 

Gus rushes by and goes into house. Miss Hennessey stands 

triumphantly for a moment, then leaves the garden. Mrs. 

C o m b d e n and Mr. M i s h e 1 1 e appear and seat themselves 

with back to entrance of garden. 

(M i s h le 1 ! e. Indeed, quite an idea ! To work in the 
■city and come out here in the afternoon to spend the rest 
of the day. 

Mrs. Combden. My brother does it. And he 
does luot suffer any inconvenience. 

M i s h 'e 1 1 e. The summer in the city is unbearable. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. You ought to imitate my brother. 

Mishelle. Would you permit me to call here 
daily? 

Mrs. Combden. Good company comforts the 
most dreary place. 

M i s 'h e 1 1 e. You may be right. But what is your 
conception, — of good company? 

Mrs. Combden. I loO(k for the cheerful, the 
bright. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. We own a wonderful assimilation of 
sentiments. I admire the well bred and witty. 

Irving enters garden. At seeing Jxie couple at table he slowly 
walks up near them and sits down behind tree. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. And I may as well confess, Mr. 
Mishelle, your company is very promising. My father 
'hais learned to respect you, and the friendship of my 
brother for you is unbounded. 

50 



Mis he lie (delighted). Your father's respect — 
ah, I have done everything with the view to gaining it. 
Your words are very encouraging. 

Mrs. C o m b d 'e n. But, then — you care as well 
for my opinion of you. 

iM i s h e 1 1 'C. I have your invitation to call as often 
as I wish. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Don't fear to come too often. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. My intention is settled. If there be a 
suitable -hotel in the neighborhood, you shall find in me 
your most ardent admirer and companion. We shall row, 
ride, and swim togelher, and — ■ 

Mrs. Com b d e n. But in the face of the world, 
Mr. Mishelle, I miust ask you to restrain the display of 
your sentiments. 

Misiheille (taking her hand). My sentiments^ — 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. In the face of the world I 
appear as Mrs. Combden. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. You ought to bear a worthier name 
than that. The man who makes a woman unhappy is a 
wilful criminal. But his record — 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Now, his record is clear. At 
least, nobody can say he has committed an unlawful act. 
And by that one is to be judged. 

M li s 'h e 1 1 ic. Quite right, Mirs. Combden. But you 
are not the first woman he betrayed. Among his friends 
a story circulates — about a girl he left in very precarious 
circumstances. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. I never heard the full truth 
about it. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. And I will not be cruel enough to 
relate it to you. But the circumstances that resuiled in 
his discharge from the hospital — 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Gus told me that he was dis- 
honorably discharged, but I can't believe it. 

Mishell'e. One of the directors told me it per- 
sonally — 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Dr. Martin ? 

51 



M i s h e 1 1 e. No, no, that -miust remain a secret. I 
have given my w^ord of honor. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Oh, what a life, what a past ! 

M i s h e 1 1 e. t^'orget it ! 

M r s. C o m b d e n. No, I must not forget it. They 
say: experience is no teacher; the more one experiences 
the more ready is one for other failures. It shall not be 
siQ if I can help it. And I slha'll not forget. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. Then abandon all pleasures that in- 
vigorate and animate body and soul. 

Mrs. C o m b d en. Abandon pleasures? No, no. 
I will seek them, and embrace every opportunity for joy 
and happiness. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. I knew it. 

Mrs. Comb den. But I shall not tie myself to 
a^ny promises. 

iM i s h e 1 1 e. Still you may find one worthy of your 
affections. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. I don't doubt. 

M i s h e 1 1 e. So you will leave a space in your 
heart — open for Cupid's arrows? 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Oh, Mr. Mishelle, a woman like 
me — with a child and withoiut a fortune — half bound yet 
to a man — to a hus — 

Mishelle (leaning over to her). Well directed 
efforts overcome all obstacles. 

Mrs. C o m b d e n (rising) . I fear, they might 
suspect something if we stayed 'here too late. Please, go 
in. ril soon follow. 

Mishelle. So abruptly ! B'ut you shall always find 
me to be obedient. (Goes into house.) 

Mrs. Combden walks into rear of garden and, as it has become 

dark, takes a lantern down to light it, whereupon she turns 

around and sees Irving. The lantern falls to the ground and 

Mrs. Combden utters a cry as if in fright. 

Irving (stepiping quickly toward her). Calm 
down, Mrs. Combden. I am not here to arouse your sen- 
timents. 

52 



'Mrs. C o m b d e n. I — did — not — 'expect — ^you. 

Irving. Certainly not, my dear. But I came. 
What a fool, what a knave a.m I? And my visit (ironi- 
cally), the visit of that man, that husband, to whom you 
are half bound, shall be a blessing to you. Just grant 
me a few minutes conversation. 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Come in the house. 

Irving. Why leave the beautiful stillness, the 
holy kindness of nature for the sake of the profane merri- 
ment of the parlor? Are the eyes of the stars not truer 
than the looks of your friends, the mumblings of the 
leaves not softer than the braggings of simpletons? But 
I don't want to ikeep you too long from your new acqui- 
sition. 

M r s. Co nt b 'd e n. My new acquisition ? 

Irving. Please, my love, sit down. I want every- 
thing that may lead to an unpleasant scene — excluded. 
Sit down. 

M r s. C o m b den. I prefer to stand. 

Irving (imperative). Sit down! (Taking her by 
the arm and leading her to chair previously occupied by 
her.) Sit down on this chair with its hopeful recollect- 
ions. (He presses her mildly down on chair.) And now 
listen. Are we still man and w^ife? 

M r IS. C o m b d <e n. How can yO'U question it ? 

Irving. Answer yes or /no. Are we man and wife ? 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. Yes^ — ^^but — 

Irving. But what? — 

M r s. C o -m 'b d e n. The law — 

Irving. The law is crooked. The law is a bribe; 
a blackmailer; the law is senseless. Leaving the law 
aside, answer me in the language of human sentiment 
and reason; are we husband and wife? 

M r s. C o m b d e n. Yes. — 

Irving. Have both parties to the contiact some 
duties to perform ? 

Mrs. Combden. Certainly, both. 

53 



r V i n g. Are you willing to resume your duties? 
M r s. C o m b d e a. I am. 
Irving. And you know your duties? 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. My duty at present is to be 
faithful. 

I r V i !n g. To be faitihful. And what does that mean? 
To store your body away for my use — in some future 
day — against your will? 

Mrs. C o m b d e n. No, it means to be faithful with 
soul and body. 

Irving. With soiul and body? A big, fine, but 
empty shell. Are your thoughts directed to the sphere 
of equal happiness of man and woman? Is your husband's 
comfort as great a part of your desires as is your own? 

iM r s. C o m b d e n. I constantly think of you. 

Irving (ironically). What a sacrifice ! To think o£ 
me! How happy it makes me! And you are willing to 
show me the seriousness of your affections by resuming 
your diuties as my wilfie? 

M r s. C o m b d e n. At present — I fear — I dare not. 

Irving. Exactly. Whoever dares not be faithful 
don't love his duty. The duty that is burdensome cannot 
be desirable. Whoever dislikes the duty hates the person 
to whom the duty extends. Alas, Mrs. Combden ! Not a 
word. I am not here to be deceived, but to convince you 
of your inability to do it. I have come here with the 
object to offer you all my help; — to secure your full free- 
dom by legal means. I was resolved t(^ forgive you the 
low insults you have heaped upon me,— led to such vul- 
gar methods by vulgar calculation and association. But 
you still dared to lie, you still cling to hypocrisy and 
slyness, you still insult my faith with treasonable pro- 
mises. (Takes out a revoilver and puts it on the table. Mrs. 
Gombden wa-nts to rise and flee. Quickly Irving holds 
hand over her mouth and pulls her softly down on seat.) 
Don't shrietk, and collect yo'ur nerves ! Here is a pencil 

54 



and paper. Write down every wo.rd I will dictate. That 
will make you free — legally free, as you wish it. 

Mrs. Combden falls on knees, but Irving raises her anl seats her. 

I r w i n g. Not a word. Write ! (puts pencil in her 
hand.) ''I, Mildred Worthington, who married Irving 
Combden throiugh trickery," — write every word, I say. 
Don't delay the moment of your liberation, ''who never 
loved him, who had sworn false oaths to deceive him, I 
declare herewith, that I have to-night given him proofs 
of my dishonesty" (seizing pistol) unless you copy every 
word without hesitation ! — ''of my dis'hoinesty in a conver- 
sation held by me and one Mishelle, in which I expressed 
my contempt for Irving Combden, and my satisfaction 
at his underserved humiliation as well as my desire for 
the company of said Mishelle." Now sign your name. 
(Takes paper, reads it, meanwhile watching Mrs. Comb- 
den). This liberates you from me. I am going to leave 
the city and shall never cross your path again. To satisfy 
you, I shaill send yO'U the divorce papers in a short time. 
But one thing I never shall forget. And that is the child. 
Remember that well. Watch over its safety, let it never 
suffer. If any thing should happen, if anything should 
befall the child, due to your carelessness and neglect — I 
will hold you responisiible. Remember that. Good-by! 

Walks quickly toward entrance to garden. 

Mrs. Combden (quickly running toward the 
cottage). Help! Murder! Help! 

Irving (turns and shoots). This was your last 
chance at deceit (disappears.) 

Mrs. Combden has fallen to ground. Mr. and Mrs. Worthing- 
ton, Gus, Mishelle, Dr. Martin run out in confusion. 

Mrs. Worthington (over body of Mrs. Comb- 
den). Mildred, my angel! 

Mrs. Combden. Irving — shot me. 

55 , 



G u s. After 'him ! 

iM i s h e 1 1 e. Revenge ! 

Follow in direction of Irving. 

Mr. Worthington (trembling) . Doctor, help ! 

Dr. Martin (^examining) . She is beyond the 
reach of science. 

Mrs. Worthington. No, no, o Lord, can you 
punish a mother so hard! No, no. Doctor, her hand is 
warm yet, she is not dead, not dead ; it cannot be, it must 
not be. Mildred, Mildred. How could it be! (fainting). 



66 



V. ACT. 

A room decorated with floral offerings. In the centre a table 

set with winebottles, dishes, and bouquets. Ruby Hart. 

Cutler. Dr. Pump- Nickel. 

Cut 1 e r. This greetin<g of his frienids gatlhered ihere 
to-night to extend to him their full sympathy and love 
shall repay him for all the days of martyrdom he suffered 
from his matrimonial adventure. 

M i s s H a r t. And let us from now^ on hold together 
the tie of good comradeship that arises from our mutual 
understanding of the individual w^elfare. We who see in 
the human being lOt a means for exploitation and in the 
sexes not a mere means for a game of conquest — we 
must seriously go to work and aid each other, uplift each 
other, console each other. 

Cutler (pressing her hand). And never feel in- 
sulted at the jests from our friendis. 

Miss Hart. But what I cannot comprehend in 
this game of the sexes, is that the refinement of a woman 
should not shrink from publicly displaying disgraceful 
scandals, that a womans' kindness, soft as it naturally is, 
should delight in the rabbles craving for gossip. 

Cutler. Well, well. Could you really think that 
a woman that uses such 'means possesses any refinement 
save that of the garment? These creatures buy every- 
thing, have everything made to order — they do not make 
their own character, they never cultivate their mind with 
a view to ennobling it, they never elevate their soul above 
the level of animal instincts. 

Dr. P u m p - N i c 'k e 1. Talking of delight. Why, 
she delights in her work. Mrs. Combden never passes 
a mirror without looking in to find herself the heroine. 
And how did she love him and does she love him, she 

57 



declares, and how did she conquer herself in order to put 
him in prison! But he deserved it, for he was a fool, a 
brute, a scoundrel or — I don't know what not she calls 
him. 

M i s s H a r t. But you took his part and defended 
him against such abusive languag-e? 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. Who was it that released 
our friend? Was it not his best friend, the doctor? How 
could you doubt my sincerity? But she does not care for 
anybody's feelings. The torrent of her language sweeps 
ones interruption away. 

Cutler. Ho'W I lo-nged tio see her, to speak to her 
and lay open her faults, her misconduct, her perfidy, her 
sins. Under the lashes of my anger she should have ex- 
perienced a chastisement more cruel than bodily punish- 
ment can administer. But they did not face me. They 
did not call me to the Courtroom. Cowards that they 
are, they smelled the truth and 'kept away from me. 

Litchfield and Irving arrive. Irving sits down without 
taking notice of anybody. 

Litchfield (to Cuitler). Not a word. Com-es 
to ni'e, takes me oi^t — and not a word. 

R'uby Hart (to Irving). Mr. Combden, do not 
grieve. The stories they have circulated aboiut you find 
no listener among us. 

Cutler. And now, Irving, forget the past and let's 
make up. Everything is ready for a merry evening. 

Irving. For a merry evening ! 

Cutler. Let us sit down at the tabile, and, like in 
the days of our old friendship, unite in comfidence for a 
new purpose, a greater ambition, a loftier future. 

Irving (rising and looking around). And no Judas 
among us? 

Miss H art. All friends. 
(Irving fixes Dr. Pump-Nickel and turns away from the table.) 

Cutler. And with the force of the law we shall 
redeem everything. 

58 



Irving (ila<ughing angrily). My arm settles the law. 

Cutler. Will you permit the law to hold you in 
bonds? 

Irving. No, sir, I will ignore it as a man. 

Cutler. Nonsense. He who ignores the law is 
crushed by it. 

Irving. And he who prays to it is often killed. 

Cutler. But master is the man who fights with it. 

Irving. And who submits to masters is a slave. 

Cutler. The law can heal as she can wound. 

Irving. Who waits for cruel kindness is a fool. 

C lu 1 1 e r. The iman wlho wants hiis ritglhts in the 
oo'mimiunity m-usft takie it from its h'an'ds. 

Irving. The individuars right or wrong squares 
best the individual act. 

C u 1 1 e r. What Js the individual in the maze of a 
community? 

Irving. The less he counts, the lower is the weight 
of the community wherein he lives. No pride of man- 
hood means no people^s honor. 

Cutler. Kee'p right within the boundaries of law 
and you will reap reward and honor. 

Irving. And trick and cheat and lie. Fear 
neither perjury nor shrink from treason. 

Cutler. That is not law. 

Irving. I say, it is. The statutes of the law are 
masked frauds, the judges are prejudiced lies, the jurors 
accommodating perjurers. 

Cutler. I know, try as I may, I am neither elo- 
quent nor wise enough to convince you of your mistaken 
course. But I am sincere. I beg you to have mercy with 
yourself and listen to my practical advice. And every- 
thing shall be settled to everybody's satisfaction. 

Litchfield. And let us assure you, Irving, that 
the reputation of Mrs. Combden will not be injured. 

Irving. That can not be injured. 

59 



La t ell f ie 1 d. For I may as weld tell you, my 
friends, that Irving accused himself of having maltreated 
her of whose love he was convinced. 

M i s s H a r t. Impossible ! 

Cutler. Are you still laboring under that delusion, 
Irving? 

Irving. It was a mistake. Had I understood 
Undle Henri, I should have been cured long ago. But 
now let us drink to the memory of Judas ! 

M i s s H a r t. Of Judas ! 

Irving fills the glasses. They seat themselves. 

Irving. To the .memory of Judas, who ever in 
history has been the best friend of those — wielding the 
greatest influence on legitimate corruption. Your health, 
Doctor! (all look with surprise at each other.) 

Dr. P u m !p - N i c k e '1 (emptying glass and filling 
the glasses). And here to the memory of Othello who 
offers a romantic excuse to those whose jealousy stamps 
their best friends with treason. 

C u t"l e r. Well can one afford to drink to the 
memory of Othello, who knows that Judas was there. 
But I refuse to drink with one who knows it and excuses 
Judas. 

D r. P u m p - N i c k e 1. As far as I am concerned, 
my dear friends, kt it be known that I am at a loss to 
understand — 

Irving (interrupting). How we dare to mention 
Judas in your presence? 

Cutler (applauding). Well, weTl ! 

Dr. Pump -Nickel. I am at a 'loss to understand 
how such insinuations — 

Irving (interrupting). As the connectioms between 
yo'u and Judas — 

Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1 (rising). How such insinu- 
ations can be huried at me. For I have always acted — 

60 



I r'v i n g (ais a'blovie, iTLOcki^ng) 'as a gentleman. 

Cutler. As a business man. 

Irving. Sit down, Doctor. To the memory of 
one that's gone! To the memory of a deluded soul that's 
out of our reach ! To the memory of a mutual friend that 
had so much to thank you for. Doctor, that it broke her 
heart. (Throws glass to floor.) 

All rise in exciteni'ent. Irving goes to rear, takes a few tablets 
froim a bottle, swallows them, returns to table and fills a glass. 

Irving. This glass I empty alone. Parting as I 
will from you all and go away aind never return, it befits 
me to swallow the bitter pill of destruction alone. 

Miss Hart. Oh, pray, Mr. Combden, explain ! I 
fear, lest some harm may befall you ! 

Irving. Oh, I feel well, my dear. Never felt any 
better. But I must freely speak to Judas. You knew, 
Doctor, that Ruby was looking for me, and you did not 
tel'l me. You knew that my wife's intentions were to put 
me in jail and you were silent. And when I was arrested 
in your office the noble Worthington called you a gentle- 
man. 

Cutler, You played two roles and played them 
fairly well. But your duplicity is unmasked. 

Miss Hart. And now I understand ! Oh, what a 
miserable fool ! 

Dr. P u m p - N i C'k e 1. And this deserves a man 
who helps his friends. It's all a mistake. But unable to 
convince you now, I withdraw. (Exit.) 

Irving. Yona d'o well, wretch ! We are all friends. 
There is not a face in this room, that is not dear to my 
heart, that does not awake the memory of sorrowless and 
haippy days. You Cutler, have much to forgive me, also 
you. Ruby. But you both are noble and you love me. 
Will you remain true to me and bear my memory with 
love after you will be told that the man whom you 

61 



thought was not able to commit any act of cruelty, that 
this man had coim^mitted — tmurdier ! 

Miss Hart (shrieking in despair). Murder! 

Cutler and Litchfield (running to him). 
Irving, are you mad! 

Irving. Friends, I am well. They will soon be 
here and take me away. We never will be together again, 
we never will enjoy listening to friendly voices — sitting 
together, friend and friend. Let us not lose any time. 
Here's a note that would explain a great deal if she were 
alive. But she is dead. And it must be torn. I wanted 
to free her, but she deceived me at the very moment I 
freed her from me, and, as though I were a piece of game, 
yelled out to the bloodhounds to chase me. (Tears up 
the mote and burns it ^over gas jet.) 

M i s s H a r t (fainting). Irving, Irving! Again! 

C u 1 1 e r. You are weak, Irving. 

Lii t c h f i e I'd. You are 'SO pale. Yooir eyes look 
so peculiar. 

Irving. I feel well, very well. Ring for a mes- 
senger. 

Litchfield rings bell. 

Irving. Let me write a few lines. 

Writes and folds paper. Litchfield and Cutler are busy over 

Ruby Hart; they revive her. M'essenger enters, receives note 

and withdraws. 

Irving. Ruby ! 

Miss Hart. Can I help you? My reason forsakes 
me. 

Irving. I am getting weaker. 

Cutler and Litchfield lead him to lounge. 

RubyHart (sits near him, and Irvings head leans 
on her shoulders). Keep up your courage. We will not 

62 



leavie you. Whatever may happen, your friends shall be 
with you. 

Irving. I know^ it. (Closing eyes.) When I left 
the shore in a stout boat, the sails filled w^ith a mild 
breeze, the sun was shining on a laughing blue sky and 
the birds were flying in their innocent happiness above 
and around me. All made merry and I was laughing with 
them. But I had not left the bay yet, we were not thrust 
to the mercy of the ocean yet, when, black as the Pest, 
a threatening cloud drew over the sun and with the rapi- 
dity of an eagle had soon covered the sky. Gray as the 
motio'uless, pitiless stone lay the waters grave. Then 
swept a yelling, rageful gale upon us as though Hades 
had spit out a million of avaricious birds with wings of 
iron to devour us, and a murderous storm chastised the 
sea that the waves beamed up in pain and haste and flew 
upon us and around us like bloodthirsty serpents with 
white poison in their muttering and mumbling mouths. 
All looked for safety but I, all heeded the warnings of 
their friends but I, who listened to Judas. And hardly 
had I recognized my dangerous position and was ready 
to escaipe to the pilots of my friends, when a squall 
grasped me and washed me down to the bottom of the 
sea. But now — the sky — is laughing again, — -and the 
water is calm and innocent. 

M i s s H a r t. Be quiet, you need rest. 

Irving. I soon — ^will' — rest. Soon — and we never, 
never can — • — talk to each other. 

Cutler. Nonsense, my good fellow. Hope ! The 
glorious days will return. 

Irving. Never, she is dead. And — o'h ! my — 

baby! 

Litchfield. Be quiet ! 
Miss Hart. How cold he is ! 

C u 1 1 e r. Let him fall asleep. It is a nervous col- 
lapse. 

Litchfield (opening door) . Doctor ! Please. 
Doctor! 



63 



Dr. P u m p - N i c k e 1. What is it? Ha, what a 
peculiar pallor! 

Cutler. Speak, man ! 

Dr. Pump-Nickel examines Irving. Bell rings. Two Offi- 
cers of the Police enter. 

O if f i ic ^e r (wiJth fixeld revolver) . Mr. Irving Com'b- 
den ! 

Dr. Pump-Nickel. He is dead ! ' 

A cry of pain, arising simultaneously, from the friends of Irving 
goes through the room. 

Cu tiler. Farewell, my friend. You did submit 
at last. (To officer.) Such is the work of fate, wihen 
you step forth. 



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64 



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